


Everyman

by serephent



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred is a National Treasure, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bruce and Clark love their kids, DCU Big Bang 2020, Depowered Clark Kent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Lex and his monologuing, M/M, So many goddamn feels, SuperBat, modern age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serephent/pseuds/serephent
Summary: The Superbat family is struggling with their new reality in the wake of The Crisis. Conner is dead, Clark’s depowered, and the JL has disbanded. As a final straw, Luthor has developed a therapy to give ordinary people meta abilities. Since Lex doesn’t have an altruistic bone in his body, Clark’s looking for the inevitable catch. Which he finds when participants start dying.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 24
Kudos: 32
Collections: DCU Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Everyman - Illustration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440446) by Anonymous. 



> Superbat reimagining of _52 Weeks_ with a touch of _One Year Later_. But, as those issues combined are over 1,000 pages, I only drew out the plot threads I wanted.
> 
> Written for the 2020 DCU Big Bang! 
> 
> BlueNeon captured the emotion of the funeral so well in their stunning [art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440446). It left me breathless. I hope the fic does it justice. 
> 
> **Betas:** I was blessed to have the amazing combination of [Cattyk8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattyk8), [Holdt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holdt), and [Internerdionality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Internerdionality) helping on this, for which I'm eternally grateful. Seriously. Those early drafts give a whole new definition to rough 😅

  
_**The Fallen** _  
_Lois Lane_  


_We owe all the heroes of Earth a debut of gratitude for ending the Crisis. So many gave their lives for us. Among them, our own Superboy, who will be honored with a memorial service next week._  


__________________________

Bruce knows they saved the universe, but it sure the fuck doesn't feel like a victory.

It wasn’t even a Tuesday when a refugee Superboy from a destroyed universe arrived. Turned out he intended to trigger a new Big Bang, to just wipe out everything and start over. He was exceedingly strong, so might have succeeded, if not for also being vulnerable to kryptonite. 

The catch—because there always is one—was the level of exposure required, which meant the only place in the universe Bruce could find with a high enough concentration was the remains of Krypton itself.

It was a desperate gamble, and one he hadn’t wanted to take. Bruce didn't think _anything_ could be worse than watching Clark fly off to what was almost certain death. 

He was wrong. 

Holding Clark in his arms as he crumpled to the ground at the news of Conner’s death, because Bruce had failed to protect their children, was _infinitely_ worse.

Bruce is witness to violence, tragedy, and death nightly. It doesn't help him make sense of the loss, because there’s no way to understand the death of a child. How in one moment, the hopes and possibilities of a life are just _gone_. Standing in his private cemetery, Bruce’s stance is rigid, eyes locked on the newly carved marble marker:

_Conner Kent  
Beloved Son, Brother & Friend  
Hero_

“How many more children will we bury, Kal?” he demands, gaze shifting to Jason’s headstone and back. His death remains a bitter pill that will not go down. It doesn't matter that it's one of Bruce’s own making. God, he's such a hypocrite. If there was any justice in the universe, he'd choke to death on it.

Clark puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes before answering, “If I have anything to say about it, Rao willing, none.”

Most people believe the defining tragedy of Bruce’s life was the loss of his parents, but only because they will never see the suit memorialized in the glass display. Will never truly know the spectacular depth of his failure. God, how he wishes Jason’s death really _had_ been an accident. No, the suffocating darkness of Bruce’s life is that of a parent who arrived too late to save his child. _Twice_.

“As their parents, _we're_ supposed to be the ones taking on the darkness so that our kids don't have to.” 

“No matter how hard we tried, I don’t think we’d ever be able to keep them from the fight. They are all too heroic for that.” 

"How can it be worth their lives?” 

“Because it _has_ to be," Clark says. "Conner sacrificed his life so that everyone else would survive.”

"Is his dying to save the world supposed to make it better? Or just better than dying alone in a warehouse?" 

“Wh—what? Rao, no, Bruce. Of course not,” Clark chokes out, voice thick with emotion.

Bruce knows intimately that losing someone you love breaks you from the inside out. That the extremes of either feeling no emotions at all or drowning in them—rage, grief, regret, guilt—are shadows of the anguish and devastation trying to break out.

That grief is like a sleeper cell that could detonate at any unknown—and most likely highly inconvenient—moment, letting loose an explosion to destroy everything in its path. It doesn’t make it any easier to see the pain from his rash words clearly written across Clark’s face.

“Kal.” Reaching out, he gently wipes the tears from Clark’s eyes, before cupping his cheek. "I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you meant. _:Zhalishodh khahp =forgive me=._ ”

Clark nuzzles into Bruce’s hand and kisses his palm. “There's nothing to forgive.”

“I just want to scream from the rooftop that our sons were _heroes_.”

“The people of Metropolis know Kon-El was a hero. Otherwise they wouldn’t have a memorial service planned, or be putting that statue of him in Centennial Park.” 

“I suppose it’ll help people remember him after the immediacy of the Crisis fades and they’re moving on with life.” 

“Even _if_ they do forget, it’s okay. That they liveis enough. It’s the whole reason why every single sacrifice and thing we do _is_ worth it," Clark says, voicing wavering. 

"They’re coming," Bruce says. Then, taking a deep breath, he turns with Clark to watch as the family make their way from the manor, each carrying a long-stemmed red rose—Conner’s favorite color. 

Cass, who has one in her left and two in her right, moves to them, handing a flower to each. Seeing her hesitate, Bruce understands and wraps an arm around her shoulders, drawing her near, thankful for the silent comfort of his beloved daughter.

Bruce looks across the grave at Tim, standing behind Dick's wheelchair, and it’s hard to tell which of the boys is more broken at that moment. They didn’t just lose a brother, but a teammate and for Tim, a best friend. Bruce has _no_ conception of what to say. He trusts that Clark will.

God, Dick in his wheelchair—he’d come so close to perishing in the Crisis just as Conner had. Bruce can't help the slight tremble at the thought that he might have been freshly mourning _two_ sons today. That he could have failed _more_ profoundly than he already has.

Feeling fingers entwine with his, Bruce looks straight ahead, unwilling to permit his gaze to stray left to Clark, whose eyes are undoubtedly wet with grief. Or to look beyond, where Ma Kent is sobbing into a handkerchief, while Pa Kent tries to comfort her. 

A part of Bruce knows he’s _expected_ to cry. That it’s _okay_ if he does. But he _can’t_ cry. 

He _can’t_. 

Kara steps forward, wiping the tears away with the palm of her hand. After a few snuffles, she regains composure and then with a weak smile, says, “As the Lady of the House of El, it’s my duty, and honor, to speak the words of the Prayer for the Dead.

“ _Non rrup ehl kah :zhehiod im._

“ _Enai kah nim :divil tiv ehl kah osh ehrosh mishidh ni._

“ _Pai kr yp nim rrup kav ehl rrofish._

“ _Zhind_ _tiv zil chao sern kr yp rrup vot mishidh._

“ _Nim ewuhsh Rao._ ”

As she finishes, Clark clears his throat and then begins to recite, translating for the others,

“You have been the sun of our lives. 

“Our prayers will be the sun that lights your way on the journey home. 

“We will remember you in every dawn. 

“And await the night we join you in the sky. 

“Rao's will be done.”

Clark nods to Kara, waiting to continue until she returns to her place next to his parents. “Grief will try to subvert your memories.So, live and love, _Now_ ,” he says. “Don’t let the way you live because of Conner—for him—be tainted by his absence. Do that and nothing you felt about Conner can be negated or distorted by the burden of death. Instead, those memories of love will become the pillar of strength at the centre of the abyss. Something that can _never_ be touched or extinguished.” 

Stepping forward, Alfred lays the single long-stemmed rose down and then looks to the gathered family. "I have taken the liberty of preparing Master Conner's favorite meal so that we might all enjoy it and celebrate his life." 

Bruce releases his hold on Cass when she shifts against him, watching her move up and place her rose next to the first. She smiles at Alfred, the pair then turns and heads towards the manor. 

__________________________

  
_**Metropolis will Recover** _  
_Clark Kent_

_Rebuilding from the widespread destruction left in the wake of recent battles, is now thoroughly underway, with people from all across the world arriving to aid in the relief efforts._

__________________________

“I’m going to _die_ ,” Clark states from within the mound of blankets he has carefully piled on and around himself. The top one being a bright red and blue afghan crocheted by his Ma.

Entering the room, tray in hand, Alfred remarks, “I would appreciate it, Master Clark, if you could postpone your death until _after_ you eat, so my efforts in securing and preparing your mother's chicken noodle soup do not go to waste.”

Peeking out from the blanket cocoon, he snuffles. “Well, I mean, I wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful…”

“I brought a bowl for you as well, Master Bruce.” 

“Not hungry.” 

“Additionally, there’s white chocolate chip cookies with cranberries for dessert.”

“Are you bribing me to eat?” he asks, flicking his eyes up from the laptop screen.

Setting the tray down on the side table, Alfred gives a 'whatever it takes' look to Bruce. “Enjoy your meal,” he says to Clark with a polite nod, before taking his leave.

“Bruce…”

Although secretly glad he’s being lighthearted, Bruce still shakes his head at the living pile of blankets and misery that is Clark. “It’s just a cold, Kal. You’ve wiped enough runny noses over the years to know that. You’re just being dramatic.”

“No, it’s not, ’m _dying_.”

“I rest my case.” 

"I could be,” Clark huffs. “I've never had a cold before. Maybe the flu is deadly to Kryptonians."

“You’ve been watching alien invasion movies with Tim again,” he teases, but truthfully, he’s concerned. At first he thought Clark had lost his powers because his cellular make-up was altered in some fundamental way from being exposed to all the kryptonite remains of Krypton, but weeks of tests and experiments had disproved that hypothesis. 

The new working theory, after high-intensity solar bombardment did nothing but give Clark a tan, was that although the cell structure remained unchanged, they were actively resisting absorbing any solar power. Not that Bruce has any fucking idea why. “It’s been a month, I'd hoped your powers would have returned by now." 

“I’ve never had kryptonite poisoning like this. It stands to reason it will take me longer to recover.” Clark blows his nose and tosses the tissue over with the rest.

Closing his laptop, Bruce gets to his feet in search of cookies. “We'll find a way to restore them.”

Scooting over, Clark makes room, allowing Bruce to sit down next to him. “I know. It’s just that not being able to see through walls, or hear Ma puttering around the kitchen in Smallville, makes me feel..."

"Vulnerable?"

"Human."

“Kal, you are _more_ human than most humans.” 

“ _:Zhaolodh khahp rrup =I love you=_.” 

Bruce doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. Although suspecting Clark and Alfred are conspiring, when Clark gives him a smile as bright as the sun, along with a bowl of soup, Bruce nevertheless accepts it without complaint. Flipping on the flat screen, he settles in to watch the news, secretly enjoy his food, and to comfort—but certainly not to cuddle—his depowered Kryptonian boyfriend.

The news segment changes, and Bruce stiffens, attention now fully on the broadcast. “And some humans are more monster than man.” 

Clark leans forward as well, staring at the images unfolding on the TV. 

_[Lex Luthor stands in front of a closed STAR Labs Metropolis door. The sign next to it reads: Doctor John Henry Irons, MD, PhD. Luthor turns toward the camera, gesticulating wildly._

_Luthor: Ladies and gentleman of the press, you have questioned my activities, my actions, my very character and integrity. Many of you have questioned my very sanity.]_

"Damn. After so many weeks of silence, I was really holding out hope Lex died when the building collapsed on him."

Bruce snorts. “We forgot the bucket of water.” 

“I’m melting, melting!” Clark says in a perfect Wicked Witch of the West impersonation. 

On the screen, Luthor’s rant continues. 

_[Luthor: Time and again I have protested my innocence and time and again you and your viewers, your readers, have demanded explanations and investigations into my activities both during my presidency and after. You deserve answers, and for reasons that are now about to become apparent, I have been unable to provide you with any.]_

"What do you want to bet his ‘answers’ will exonerate him of any responsibility?" Setting his empty bowl aside, Clark picks up the plate of cookies. 

“Hey!” Bruce is fully aware he’s basically a dragon, with cookies his horde, but that doesn't keep him from falling victim to the most adorable set of puppy dog eyes. He still isn’t sure if Clark learned that trick _from_ Dick or if he’s the one who _taught_ Dick. Either way, Bruce always seems to find himself on the losing end of them, like a sailor doomed upon hearing the first note of the Siren’s song. 

Clark takes a cookie and chomps down on it.

_[Opening the door, Luthor enters the lab. The camera shifts to show what looks like Luthor laying dead on the table. Beside it Irons looks up._

_Irons: What are you people doing—Luthor?_

_Irons looks to the corpse and back, confusion written across his face._

_Luthor: Ladies and gentleman, a body was discovered in Gotham city. The body of this man—”]_

Bruce’s jaw twitches. That the body, who as far as the GCPD knew was Luthor’s, could be found and relocated to Metropolis for processing without his knowledge, worries him almost as much as whatever scheme Luthor is about to unleash. 

“You realize that even if by some miracle this isn't a world domination plan, it's still going to end in disaster," Clark says.

“I'm aware." 

_[O'Neil: April O'Neil, Channel 5 News. Are you saying this man was impersonating you before he died?_

_Luthor: Yes, in a manner of speaking. The man you see lying here is a clone, but only of my body, not my mind. This Lex Luthor was a man of madness, not of business. A man who cared nothing for anything beyond his own desire for power. I was trapped while this man ruined my name and then tried to bring about the end of our world. I escaped, but sadly, not in time to prevent the damage inflicted in my name.]_

“Oh, please. It wasn’t some other version of Lex that tried to _sell out the Earth_ to Darkseid." Clark throws his hands up. “This is unbelievable.”

"Even if people buy it, and they probably will once he’s done, you're an investigative journalist. You've brought him down using just words before. You can, and will, do it again," Bruce says without a trace of uncertainty.

“Not that it stuck last time _and_ you just about died in the process.” With a snuffle, Clark blows his nose.

“First, I’m not going to die, and second, it _did_ work. Luthor cheated by pretending he died, but even that didn’t prevent him getting indicted for his actions during the asteroid crisis.”

_[Lane: Lois Lane, Daily Planet. Are you saying that the same day you escaped, your clone was not only killed, but also found?_

_Luthor: Indeed, and I must compliment the GCPD on their work._

_Lane: You were believed dead. Again. Why didn’t you tell the world what happened as soon as you escaped?_

_Luthor: That's what I'm doing now.]_

“I seriously love Lois,” Clark says with a laugh.

“Hnn. But I think you need to remind Lois to stop antagonizing the Super Villain,” Bruce says. “You won’t be there next time she gets thrown off a building.”

Clark snorts. “I doubt it will help. She’s an adrenaline junkie, and a bit of a danger magnet.” 

“True. Better ask Kara to keep an ear on her.”

_[Luthor: Don’t take my word for it. You see, standing beside me is Doctor John Henry Irons, who is perhaps better known to the world as the mec-wearing hero, Steel._

_Luthor clasps Irons on the shoulder, which is quickly shrugged off._

_He was one of the many heroes whose actions helped to save us all during the recent Crisis. Even if you don’t trust me...you know you can trust him._

_O'Neil: Is that man a clone, Doctor Irons?]_

“That bastard is going to use Irons’ hero status to give his claim legs. Lex knows people won't question his assessment, and is going to weasel out of everything." Clark folds his arms over his chest and glowers. “Explains why he was careful to mention his presidency in his opening.” 

“Lex isn't stupid. If he goes that route, any contract he signed between then and now is void. Plus, he’d lose the ‘former President of the United Sates’ title that he so loves to throw around.”

“Here’s hoping he’s as much of an egomaniac as I think he is,” Clark mutters.

_[Irons: I can confirm nothing beyond the fact that the deceased man is a DNA match for Lex Luthor, per CODIS._

_Lane: You ran the sample against the criminal database instead of asking for official samples kept on hand in the Pentagon?_

_Irons: Yes. It's the most readily available database. Plus given past activities, it was guaranteed to have samples._

_O’Neil: Was the...man murdered?_

_Luthor: Yes._

_Irons: The cause of death cannot be determined until the autopsy is performed._

_Luthor: I have no objections to you sharing your findings, Doctor Irons._

_Irons: I could give a crap about what you want, Luthor. You have no authority here. Now, everyone get out of my lab, or I will have security eject you from the building._

_End video.]_

“I don’t think that went the way he expected.”

"No. Although, in time, Irons will undoubtedly have to acknowledge that it's a clone, giving Lex the perfect patsy for everything that happened during the Crisis.”

"You're right,” Clark concedes. “And I _will_ stop him again, clone alibi be damned." 

__________________________

  
_**Superpowers for All** _  
_Clark Kent_

_LexCorp, with Luthor once again at the helm, announces a metagene-based therapy, called the 'Everyman Project' which will enable participants to develop superpowers._

_________________________

Bruce stares into a literal abyss, a black, eternal sky pocked with dead stars. He can’t think and his heart aches so deeply that each beat feels like the last. The darkness is all-consuming. This bloody pit of dread and terror, this engine that drives all hate, judgement, and fear.

It’s the place where good things cannot thrive. 

Gordon once told him that the dangers of working with a youth, of putting a child in mortal danger, even one as capable as Robin, outweighed all advantages. That however significant the benefits might be, over time they would _never_ exceed the potential cost of a child’s life. 

Bruce hadn’t agreed. 

Now two of his sons are dead and a third barely survived. Bruce considers the costs he’s willing to impose on other people, the costs he _has_ imposed on his own children— _especially_ on his own children—in pursuit of his damn mission. He just stood by when his children suffered injuries that would fall the most hardened boxer, had let them see death and violence more often associated with war zones, all for the sake of protecting Gotham.

“It’s not real, Bruce. It’s just a nightmare,” Clark’s voice reassures as he gently nudges him awake.

Bruce knows that better than most that life doesn’t always go according to script. It's why he always has a contingency plan or three. Not that they made one God damned bit of difference. Because he _failed_ , and Conner paid for it with his life.

Opening his eyes, grief slowly seeps in its relentless way, leaking into Bruce’s consciousness, filling his heart like cement. In that moment, all the lies he’s told himself about who he is—in the face of what he’s seen and done—reveal themselves as some fantasy story he’s clung to for far too long. He now clearly sees the truth that those tales once masked, no matter how hard he wishes he can stay blind and continue to believe otherwise. 

“I know you like to keep everything inside, but it’s only been two months,” Clark says. “It might help to talk about it.” He fidgets. “I mean, it always makes me feel better.” 

Bruce doesn’t _want_ to talk about it. 

Normally he wouldn’t. But Clark’s face is stricken, sharp as a blade with worry, a blade that pierces Bruce through. Quietly he quotes Nietzsche, “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.”

“I blinked.” Bruce takes in a long, slow breath through his nose. “It was during the fight with Luthor in the warehouse. Dick was down, motionless and covered in blood. Fuck, Kal, he looked just like Kon had. Like Jason had. I was sure I had just watched _another_ son die.” 

“I’m right here.” Clark doesn’t interrupt, his face open. Taking Bruce’s hand, he curls his fingers and squeezes in encouragement.

“You don’t understand. Luthor was on his knees, but that didn’t stop me. I picked up a _gun_ , walked up, put the barrel to his forehead and pulled. the. trigger.” With a bitter laugh, he says, “Turned out the safety was on.”

Clark pulls him into his arms and holds him tight to his chest. “Bruce, I think that, subconsciously, you put the brakes on yourself, even though the rage and pain was foremost in your mind. Batman _wouldn't_ miss a detail like that. Your vow not to kill is such a deep core value that you _couldn’t_ break it, no matter the provocation.” 

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Kal. I almost commited murder.” 

“But you _didn’t_.” He tucks his chin over Bruce's shoulder. “In the face of evil, we do whatever we have to do, but are careful to draw a line we will not cross. It’s that self-restraint that enables us to fight evil without _becoming_ evil. There’s a reason it’s the principle the League is founded on.”

“I didn’t even try to kill Joker after he _slaughtered_ Jason.” 

“Because we have always believed that if we ever crossed the line and killed, it’d make us as bad as the criminals we fight, and it would. You’re the one who says if you kill a killer, the number of killers in the world remains the same.” 

“I know, but at the same time, I can’t stop questioning if that’s the truth, or just what I tell myself so I can sleep at night.” Bruce furrows his brows and—after managing to pry himself out of Clark’s arms so he can face him—asks, “By _not_ killing the killer, are the deaths of all future victims on our hands? Shouldn’t we be held responsible for those destroyed lives?” 

“No. You are only accountable for the deaths you directly cause," Clark replies without hesitation. "The fact that the killing _might_ prevent future killings is inconsequential. It would be crossing a line for which the only relevant factor is that murder is wrong. _Period_.” 

“What if the life saved is one of the kids?”

Clark leans forward, puts a finger against Bruce’s lips, and says, “Don’t you fucking _dare_ try to go there. If you actually attempted it, our children would be the first in line tostop you.” Removing his finger when Bruce tries to nip at it, he continues unphased. “Everything else aside, at the end of the day, you believe in the possibility of reform, regardless of _who_ perpetrated the crime or what the nature of the offense is.”

“I suppose,” Bruce relents, fully aware of how it goes when Clark is laser focused and completely on point. Which, really, he only has himself to blame for. They’d played this conversation out numerous times with different members of the League. He just hadn’t realized how frustrating it was to be on the opposite side of the argument. 

“All of us are simply doing the best we can day by day. In the end, perhaps that’s all any of us can do, whether we’re superheroes or not.” 

“Ever the optimist.”

“With our kids, someone has to be,” he replies, flashing a lopsided smile.

“What could I possibly have done to deserve you, Kal?”

“There was nothing to do. _Nanh kryp im chahv zhor =we are of one heart=_ , you know that.” Clark puts a hand to the back of Bruce’s neck and draws him in, forehead to forehead, so close they’re breathing each other’s air. “We’re like night and day, you and I. We fit each other like hand and glove. Neither of us is complete without the other” 

To fall in love, you do just that: you fall. 

The loss of control implicit in that _terrified_ Bruce, so realizing he was _in love_ came as a complete surprise. He didn’t see it coming until the waves came crashing down without any hint of halt. Far too late to realize he was already under too deep to ever rise above them.

But now, because of Clark, he understands that loving someone comes with the risk of knowing that they can completely destroy you, but you take the chance anyway. Feeling more hope than fear. _That’s_ what love really is. A hope and faith within someone other than yourself. Bruce can have that hope. 

“You are my beacon in the night and my sun in the day,” Bruce avows, voice hardly more than a rough whisper. He holds no illusions that without Clark’s unending optimism, he’d have lost himself to the darkness long ago. 

“I promise that you will never have to face the darkness alone, Bruce. I have you. You have me. Always.” 

Capturing Bruce’s lips in a deep kiss, Clark slides his hands to Bruce’s back and holds him tight, warm palms preventing any escape. Not that Bruce would ever want to. Moaning, his lips part in welcome as Clark's tongue delves into his mouth, touching, caressing, and tasting every part of it with a maddeningly languid slowness. 

Clark breaks away from the kiss with a gasp, and although Bruce's chest heaves for his own breath, he ignores it. Instead he noses at Clark’s neck, inhaling the scent of him, before latching on, sucking and licking, trying to leave as many marks as he can. The simple fact that he _can_ is more than a little enthralling.

“ _:Zhaolodh khahp rrup :zhehiodte vahdhah =I love you like my life=,_ ” he murmurs into Clark’s neck. He feels Clark shiver, and hears his breath catch in his throat. The next moment, Bruce finds himself being gently lowered to the bed by a blushing Clark.

"I really miss my superspeed," Clark mutters and fishes the lube out of the nightstand, before holding the tube up triumphantly.

"Get over here and fuck me," Bruce demands. Clark crawls back over, but doesn’t move between his splayed legs. Instead he stretches out along the length of Bruce’s body, resting partially beside and on, him.

Clark’s lips worry against one side of the hollow of Bruce’s throat, then down and over the collarbone, taking an extra moment to lick along a scar, before moving back up to his ear, where he whispers, "You’ll take what I give you."

"Oh, fuck."

Sliding an arm under him, Clark traces around Bruce’s hole with a single lubed finger, patiently waiting for him to relax, before gently pushing a single finger in. Clark begins pulling it out and pushing it back in, fucking his ass slowly and carefully. By the time Clark reaches three fingers, Bruce is doing his best to thrust down on those clever digits, while gasping obscenities, and making little needy noises at the back of his throat.

“Please, Kal. I _need_ you.”

After repositioning, Clark quiets and gentles him, rubbing the back of his thigh with a thumb moving tenderly in a soothing circle. Then lining up to his slick entrance, Clark pushes forward, not slowing, not stopping, just sliding all the way into his ass in a long, smooth motion that opens Bruce up on his cock.

Clark fucks him so earnestly, like Bruce is his entire world. He fucks him like nothing else exists. He fucks him with short, quick, practiced snaps of his hips, exactly how Bruce wants it. And finally, finally, time falls away, and with it go the memories. Pain, anger, loss, mourning; it's all forgotten and shunted aside, as Bruce loses himself in Clark. Immerses himself in the feel of all that is love, and good, and right.

And then Clark starts whispering about how good Bruce is. How worthwhile he is. How loved he is. Bruce tries tossing his head, growling, and glaring, to no avail. Unable to bear the litany of praise, or the tears welling in Clark’s eyes, for another moment, Bruce winds his fingers through Clark's hair, and presses into an open-mouthed, greedy kiss. Clark's mouth presses against his a little harder, slotting against his. The kiss is possessive and dominating and everything Bruce craves.

"Mine."

With slow, deep strokes, Clark takes him. Owns him. _Claims_ him. Bruce knows Clark sees right through him. Right through the cowl and the prince. Seeing everything Bruce truly is, and everything he isn’t. Bruce may as well be putty in Clark’s hands—certainly, no other could so completely pull him apart, only to then reshape him again. Not that he'd ever let anyone else try.

“Yes...ungh…. _Yours_!” Clark seems to get impossibly deep with each successive thrust as he buries his cock in Bruce over and over again. Bruce closes his eyes against the wash of pleasure and _need_ inside of him. 

Clark kisses a sweat slick temple and adjusts his angle, nailing Bruce’s prostate with every thrust. "There, _fuck_ —" Bruce loses his ability to form words and lets out a sound that's halfway between a moan and a scream, his throat raw, mouth dry as he gasps for air. 

His face flushes with heat. His breath comes quicker, and his heart beats faster. It's too much, and Bruce can’t hold on anymore. He can’t…

"Kal!" He comes, a ragged sob drawing from his chest. His cock spurts messy and hot, covering his hand and splattering his chest. He feels the pulses deep within his core, and through to his extremities.

As the remnants of Clark’s control leak away, his thrusts become sloppy. "I love you," he husks, and comes with one last snap of his hips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Kryptonian Prayer for the Dead is from Supergirl S1:E14. Translation to Kryptonian by Holdt and I.
> 
> *I switched to translating the Kryptonian in text because only computer people can see the mouse over. Does it work or is it distracting?


	2. Chapter 2

  
_**Prison Breakout** _  
_Clark Kent_  


_Stryker's Island penitentiary was attacked by unknown assailants. Supergirl has since rounded up the escaped inmates, with the notable exception of John Corben—better known to most as the kryptonite-powered villain, Metallo._

_________________________

Bruce smiles to himself at the fact that even though Clark can no longer move silently, now that he’s unable to float and actually has to walk, he nonetheless purposefully makes extra noise entering the cave. Okay, yes, Bruce _had_ accidently thrown a few batarangs at Clark when he snuck up on him. _Once_. Years ago. Now the man acts like he’s always going to turn into a moving target. Bruce raises a hand in acknowledgment, his eyes still locked on the video he’s watching.

_[Hard-hitting journalist, April O'Neil, stands in front of LexCorp Tower._

_O'Neil: A terrorist attack was prevented yesterday by what’s being billed as Luthor’s own Justice League. His new dream team, Infinity Inc., consists of six members, all recipients of LexCorp’s metagene therapy._

_A picture of each person appears on screen as the names are given._

_O'Neil: With identities purchased from the Pemberton Estate; a new Nuklon (Erik Storm) and Skyman (Jacob Colby). The very first subject of the Everyman project, the aptly named Everyman (Hannibal Bates), Fury (Gerome McKenna), Trajectory (Eliza Harmon) and finally the team’s leader, Starlight (Natasha Irons, niece of John Henry Irons)_

_End.]_

“Research?”

"It's trending on social media."

“I really wish people would check the air dates on videos before they share them.”

"Because that’s going to happen," Bruce replies with a snort. "But it’s no coincidence that it resurfaced right before the LexCorp gala.”

“The Everyman Project, where every man can become a super man.” Disgust all but rolls off Clark in waves as he quotes the press release. 

“As if keeping the world from ending every other Tuesday wasn’t challenging enough. The last thing we need are armchair warriors—with powers, but no training—running around.”

“Exactly. And no matter what Lex wants the public to believe, paying to have your metagene activated to get powers _isn't_ what makes you a hero. The Bat Family does better than ninety percent of the League on any given day, and _none of you_ have powers.”

“Hmph. My superpower is being rich,” Bruce deadpans. 

“Dick would also say angst, and he would not be wrong.” Clark grins. “But you know what I meant.”

"Yes, and that belief is precisely what Lex is banking on. _You_ know it's not easy being Superman, but it’s hard for most people to recognize that. They daydream about all the amazing things they could do with superpowers, without considering any of the drawbacks.” 

“I have no doubt Lex would argue that’s still preferable, so long as it's power in human hands.”

Bruce huffs. “He would argue the Earth is flat if he got something out of it." 

“All the good intentions in the world are not enough to actually _do_ good with superpowers, they also have to know _what_ to do with them, or people end up dead. Like Eliza Harmon.”

“Trajectory? The speedster?”

“Yeah.” Clark sinks into the chair next to Bruce. “I was in the area when there was a report of an attack. Perry sent me to cover."

“Tell me," he says, full attention now on Clark.

"Turns out it was a new Blockbuster, who I swear was even stronger and more dangerous than his predecessor." 

“For which we undoubtedly have Lex to blame." Bruce presses his lips together in a tight line, his brows furrowing. "Give me a little, and I’ll figure out how to prove it.”

The fact Clark's is animatedly gesturing with his hands as he talks clearly gives away just how agitated the situation makes him. His reaction to Luthor isn’t normally so intense, and considering the topic, he has to wonder if it’s something more. Bruce presumed Clark was still doing fine without his powers, with _not_ being Superman. Maybe he’s wrong.

"The police were overwhelmed and completely ineffective, but then Infinity Inc. showed up. The team managed to defeat him, but then were so busy celebrating, that everyone except Trajectory failed to notice him getting back up. My gut told me Eliza wasn’t going to wait for her team to act. In that moment, she reminded me so much of Flash.” 

“Pretty sure thinking you're indestructible and unbeatable is a requirement to be a speedster.” He's rewarded with a slight smile from Clark for the effort.

"There was no way Blockbuster was going to be stopped by one person, regardless of having gone down once, but Trajectory must have thought he'd been weakened enough. The police had cordoned off the area, so all I could do was call out to try and get her attention, or that of the team. Starlight realized at the last minute what was happening, but it was too late."

Leaning forward, he takes Clark’s hand and squeezes it gently. “You did everything you could.”

“If I'd had my powers, I wouldhave been able to stop Blockbuster _and_ save Eliza before she even finished thinking about going after him on her own. Instead, all I could do was stand there and watch. I almost thought she was going to prove me wrong. It looked like she was winning, but then she hesitated, and that was all it took.” Fat tears start rolling down Clark’s cheeks, which he doesn’t bother to wipe away. 

“Blockbuster broke her neck like it was _nothing_. Like _she_ was nothing.” His voice cracks. “And standing there, all I could see was Conner’s body broken on the ground instead."

Bruce _should_ have seen it. Of _course_ Clark’snotokay. Of all people, he should’ve realized the nightmares stopping didn't mean Clark was in any way over the death of their son. Gathering Clark into his arms, he’s at loss for words of comfort when Clark buries his face against Bruce’s shoulder and sobs. So Bruce holds him tight and just lets him weep.

"Do you think Conner knew he was about to die, or was he like Eliza, and just assumed he'd win? _Did_ he really make that choice?" Clark demands through stifled sobs.

At times like this, Bruce really, really hates having the emotional IQ of a God damned rock. Someone, _anyone_ , else would know what to say, would know how to assuage Clark’s pain. “I want to believe he didn’t know, because it means he was blissfully ignorant of his last moments.” And that probably _wasn't_ it. Mentally kicking his own ass, Bruce opens his mouth to back peddle, but closes it abruptly and inhales deeply through his nose, before trying again. “If not, then yes, there’s no doubt in my mind that Conner made that choice, because he was a hero, and that’s what heroes do.”

"I can’t stand the thought of another parent having to bury their childbecause of this damn treatment.” 

Taking Clark's face in his hands, Bruce looks him in the eyes and says, “It wasn’t. your. fault. Do you hear me?" 

Clark nods and wipes rather futaly at his face, only to blink when tissue is thrust at him. Bruce gives him an ‘I’m Batman’ look to explain the appearance. After blowing his nose, he offers a weak smile of appreciation. 

"Rao, Bruce, those kids are out there completely unprepared. They think having powers is enough. It's not.” His voice wavers, but doesn’t break. “It’s just _not_.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s not just Infinity Inc., but everyone who now has powers and thinks that alone qualifies them to be a superhero.”

“I feel like all I do is harp on this,” Bruce says, “but that’s why it's only _after_ League members have been properly trained that they're allowed in the field. It's also why after-incident briefings are mandatory, and continued training is so vital."

"Lex doesn’t give a crap about these people, so you can rest assured that he won't be offering any.”

“You’re right, but I will."

“What? No, that’s not—”

"I have the means and the knowledge. It would be irresponsible of me not to offer it to those who are willing to learn."

Clark worries at his lip. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Metahuman abilities are a weapon like anything else, and as there's no stopping Lex from giving people powers, I'd rather they at least know how to properly use it." 

“I know I can't be seen anywhere as Superman without my powers back, but I’m also not okay with just sitting on the sidelines.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of benching you. And I won't be doing it as Batman."

"Then…"

"Having that many untrained metas in one place, without the protection of the League, would be like leading lambs to the slaughter. If one of my rogues finds out, they'd have about as much chance as fish in a barrel," he says. 

Clark holds up a finger and then lowers it with a frown. "Well, crap. What about the Lanterns?"

"Not seeing how handing them over to Hal would be an improvement."

"Bruce."

"Besides which, even if the Corps agreed, who knows how long it would take to implement. No, everyone will be a lot safer if I make arrangements as Bruce Wayne. He can hire security without arousing suspicion and more importantly, he isn’t Batman." 

"I'll talk with GL"

"And as much as it pains me, I'll talk to Arrow."

Clark rolls his eyes. “Guess that means my job is to hold Lex accountable, by making sure the public knows the truth about what’s really going on, instead of the LexCorp PR version.” 

“Exactly,” he says with a grin. “You _are_ an investigative journalist with access to the batcave, after all.”

__________________________

  
_**Everyman Participants Turning to Crime?** _  
_Clark Kent_  


_Charges have been brought against a dozen recipients of Luthor’s meta gene therapy over the last few months. The criminal severity spans the spectrum from vandalism to attempted murder._

__________________________

A string quartet plays as Bruce watches the social elite spread out across the room mingle with one another. He hates going out as Bruce "Brucie" Wayne, but there was no way to politely decline the invitation. Plus he’s more likely to get information out of Luthor in this setting. The man’s ego wouldn’t let him _not_ boast about his so-called accomplishments.

“Why didn’t we ever get together, Bruce? I still can’t figure it out. One day we’re a hot item, and the next, friends.”

“It’s good to be friends, Veronica.”

“If you want someone to watch your cat.”

“My dear, there are many lost causes, but none are as hopeless as trying to get Bruce Wayne to commit.”

Bruce turns in response to find Green Arrow done up to the nines in his civilian attire. “Hey there, Oliver,” he says, shaking hands. “And no need to worry about Veronica. She knows I’m not the marrying kind.”

“You say that, but I know you’re a family man at heart. How many kids are you up to now?”

“Not sure. They just kind of show up at the table.” It takes a herculean effort, but Bruce manages to keep his face and tone playful. A table that now has two empty chairs, he thinks, heart clenching painfully tight. Not that he can say anything. Publicly, Conner wasn’t his son. The most he can do is mourn Superboy’s death and it rankles. His gaze slants to Oliver, and although his expression only changes for the briefest of moments, it’s enough to say ‘I know what you lost’ and Bruce is grateful.

“I wish I knew you were coming. I’d have let you buy me dinner.”

With a snort, Bruce replies, “For the donation I made to your mayoral campaign you should be buying _me_ dinner.”

"Aww, you really made one?"

"It's tax deductible."

"Actually, it's not," Veronica interjects.

"No?"

Oliver shakes his head. "You're thinking of charitable donations."

"Considering your odds, it _should_ be considered charity."

"Ouch."

“Have fun, boys. I’ll be at the bar. Feel free to stop by.” Laughing, she saunters away without looking back.

“How are you, Oliver?”

“You know me, Bruce. Living the life.”

“Yeah, yeah. Living the dream.”

The room lights dim as the stage lights brighten and Luthor takes the podium. “This is a country founded on a dream. A dream of equality and of equanimity. A dream of peace and of hope, of tolerance and perseverance. A dream where everyone—even a boy from Smallville—can become, oh, I don’t know...President of the United States?” 

Oliver snorts. "And look how _that_ turned out." 

“Hnn.” Looking out over the room full of women wearing jewels worth more than the wait staff keeping their glasses full make in a year, Bruce says, “I'll stick to nightmares. They are at least guaranteed to be more pleasant than any world shaped by Luthor’s dreams.” 

“We call it the American Dream. But what is that, really? A chicken in every pot? A car in every garage?” Lex flashes a smile. “That was the old dream, my friends, my guests...I have a new dream. A dream where every man becomes a super man.” 

Bruce claps politely and wishes he could pinch his nose to relieve the headache building behind his eyes. 

“And I’d like to be very clear about what this means. It means we no longer have to trust our safety to the privileged elite, the accidental few. It means every man and woman can be a superhero. Superman is gone, but here’s the good news. We no longer need him or any of his kind. The age of the super-citizen is dawning.”

Luthor toasts the room and as a fireworks display starts behind him. “God bless America!”

Lowering his glass, Oliver takes a drink, and then comments over the rim, “Yet more people who are going to get slaughtered.”

“Not if we can help it.”

"Exactly why I'd like to be involved in your new… venture."

"Have your people call my people." Truthfully, Bruce _is_ grateful that Green Arrow will be out there helping guide the Everyman. Not that he intends to _ever_ tell Oliver that.

“Oliver!”

With a smile, Olver gestures at the portly man approaching them, and the blonde accompanying him. “Bruce, this is Senator Avery Hill.”

“Bruce Wayne.” After shaking the man’s hand, his gaze shifts. “And who might this be? Turning on the Bruce Wayne charm, he then takes the woman’s hand and kisses it. “Besides the most beautiful woman in the room, that is.” 

“Where are my manners? This is my daughter, Cherisse.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne,” she replies, blushing slightly.

“I assure you, the pleasure is all mine, and please, call me Bruce.”

Oliver flags down a passing waiter, and once drinks are shuffled, asks, “What do you think about all this, Senator?” 

“I’ve been hearing that _some_ people are being charged millions for the therapy while others have been getting it for _free_!” Avery replies as he puts a hand to his chest, looking like he just might faint.

Cherisse nods. “I was reading about one of the girls on that Infinity Inc. team, the fast one who died, and her family said they didn’t pay a dime for the treatment!”

Bruce sips from the glass of champagne he’s been nursing to hide his disgust over the casual disregard of the life lost. Not that he’s surprised, given the senator and his daughter clearly see anyone not in their circle as lesser, more like objects than people. “I thought I heard that was a charity thing?”

“Indeed. Ms. Harmon came from an impoverished family, and we charge candidates according to their means,” Luthor explains as he walks up, glass in hand. “In her case, the fee was waived entirely.” 

“You don’t think that’s being a little _too_ generous?” Avery demands.

“Not at all. You can’t put a price tag on good PR.” 

“You sneaky bastard,” Oliver says as if it’s a compliment. 

Luthor looks smug sipping his champagne. “Meaning from anyone with the last name of Wayne, I’d ask for roughly, say...thirty million.” 

Bruce struggles to hide his anger as the conversation continues around him. After getting himself under control enough not to try to rip Lex’s spine out through his sphincter, he swans in and says, “Wait, why am I paying thirty million, Lexi?”

“Because we both know you can afford to pay it. And really, what’s thirty million dollars compared to the unlimited powers my therapy could give you?” 

Draping an arm over Bruce's right shoulder, Oliver then leaning his head over the left, and says, "Brucie here is the _last_ person who should have superpowers."

“I would be awesome as a superhero." Bruce pouts with mock injury. 

Oliver snorts. "God help the world."

Bruce rolls his eyes. "So you end up with, uh, powers, but I don't understand what the therapy is?”

“It's only the single most significant development in evolution since fish crawled out of the sea: synthesized human variant metagene." Luthor huffs at the artfully blank look on Bruce’s face. "In simple terms, it's the biological quirk that allows ‘superpowers’ to develop."

"I don't know, Lexi. Messing with your genes doesn’t sound very safe.” He makes his best fish lips.

Everyone else laughs. Luthor rubs at his temple. "I assure you, it's _completely_ safe.”

“Kids flying and throwing cars and making sure they’re on the front page of their hometown newspapers,” Oliver says with a shake of his head. “Eliza made hers, but I’m sure not how she dreamed she would.”

“Trajectory gave her life to protect the city and her teammates,” Luthor says. “She was a hero.”

“Wonder if she felt that way?” Oliver asks, an edge of mockery in his voice.

“Gotham’s heroes don’t have powers.” Bruce cocks his head and looks towards the ceiling in consideration. “Probably because we don’t have a very good track record when it comes to people with them. They tend to end up as insane super villains.” Running his fingers through his hair, Bruce winks and adds, “With bad hair.”

“If someone like Deathstroke got his hands on the therapy, I would be mayor over the pile of rubble that _was_ Star City.”

Grasping her diamond necklace, Cherisse says, “I read an article in the Daily Planet about how Everyman participants are committing crimes.” 

“One can hardly be surprised. What with you giving powers to charity cases, Luthor.” Avery shakes his head, takes his daughter’s arm, and leads her away, muttering about LexCorp trying to swindle millions from people for something criminals can get free. 

Bruce knows the conversation is striking a nerve, hopefully more than one, given the obvious effort Luthor is putting forth to not reach out and strangle someone. Probably the senator. He takes it as a win. 

"I can't be held responsible for what happens to people _after_ they have the therapy," Luthor replies through gritted teeth.

“So what powers do you have, Lexi?” 

“Yes. That’s a good question.” Oliver nods in agreement. “I would think you, of all people, should have superpowers.” 

“None. My staggering intellect is natural." 

"You _don't_ want superpowers?” Bruce asks, wide eyed. That nugget of information is worth every torturous minute he has spent tonight. Now he needs to know if it's lack of confidence in the therapy keeping Luthor from using it, or something else. 

Frowning at his empty glass, Luthor motions towards a waiter. “What? No, there are compat—”

“Luthor!” 

With a smile, Luthor says, “Doctor Irons. Looks like your skin finally matches your name—Steel!”

Bruce doesn’t have to fake surprise at the sight, and immediately notes that Lex doesn’t share it. Bruce lets himself move back, noting that Oliver does the same, placing himself in a flanking position.

Irons stalks right past them, his focus entirely on Luthor, who he grabs by the front of the shirt. Lifting him off his feet, Irons looms large. “Where’s my niece? I want to see Natasha!”

“Let him go!” Mercy orders, gun in hand.

“You think that’s going to work?”

When she fires, Bruce has an overwhelming urge to smack Mercy upside the head. After so many years facing off against Superman, she should know that bullets _bounce_ off invulnerable skin. A quick glance around determines that, by some miracle, none of the party-goers were struck by the ricochet. 

"Stop shooting before you hit me!"

Mercy pulls the trigger anyway, but instead of striking Irons, the bullets _stop_ , frozen in air. They revert to a molten state, still suspended,. Bruce is forced to reevaluate Lex’s involvement as he realizes that Irons can control the metal. . Giving an enemy those abilities would be an epically bad idea, and while Luthor is many things, stupid isn't one of them.

“I want my niece back!” Irons roars, and as he does, one of the balls of liquid lead hanging in the air resumes its flight, but on an entirely new trajectory, striking Mercy’s arm with a hiss and the smell of burnt flesh.. “If you’ve so much as touched her…” 

“What I did was make her dreams come true. Which is far more than you’ve ever done, I think you’ll agree,” Lex taunts.

Irons reaches out with his other hand, grabs Luthor by the neck, and then lifts him a little higher off his feet. “You _never_ change. Always taking what’snot yours to take. Giving what’s not yours to give." A molten bullet sails through the air, stopping above the tip of Lex’s nose, right between his eyes. “Last chance. Where. Is She?”

“She’s right here, Uncle John, and _she_ thinks you better put her boss down before you get hurt.”

Bruce relaxes a fraction when Natasha steps forward, and the remaining rounds revert back to their solid form, and fall to the ground. Not that he would shed a tear over Lex’s death, but he also can't stand by and watch him be murdered, now matter how badly Bruce wishes he could. 

"How could you do it?"

"Hypocrite much?"

"I didn't ask for this."

Looking Irons up and down, she rolls her eyes and says, "Let me guess, you just woke up like that."

"Yes! Lex did this to me without my permission, or participation."

"We can add slander to your list of crimes, Doctor Irons."

He slams Luthor into a marble pillar without looking. “This isn't the way, Nat. You have to earn it. Did you not hear a thing I tried to teach you?”

“I heard it, but the world doesn’t work like you want it to, Uncle John! The world doesn’t care how muchyou work or how hardyou try!" she yells, her fists clenching. “You take _what_ you can, _when_ you can.”

"Luthor’s only using you to get to me, and when you're no longer useful, the bastard will throw you away without a second thought."

“You’ve got no idea what I’ve become, how powerfulLuthor’s made me. Now, leave him alone!” Natasha grabs his arm, pulling him off Luthor effortlessly, before proceeding to toss Irons out the doors like he weighs nothing. 

Filing the entire encounter away for later analysis, Bruce watches Luthor get to his feet, while trying to act as if he hadn't just been tossed around like a rag doll. “I have to hand it to you, Lexi, your parties are anything but dull!” 

For the first time that night, both Bruce’s amusement and smile are genuine.


	3. Chapter 3

  
_**“New JLA” disbands under shadow of failure** _  
_Clark Kent_  


_The first mission of the self-proclaimed 'New Justice League' was nothing less than a total disaster, say witnesses who watched in horror as at least a dozen Everyman heroes were slaughtered._

__________________________

Clark wiggles around until he finds a comfortable position beside Bruce on the couch, before adjusting the blanket and then his glasses. 

“All settled?” Bruce asks as he wraps an arm around Clark, places the popcorn bowl on his lap, and turns on the television. 

“Mhhmm.”

_[The logo appears on screen, then an in studio shot of John Irons, with entirely metallic skin, followed by a clip of Lex Luthor.]_

Clark shakes his head. "I still can’t believe it.”

“Any progress on figuring out how he managed to give Irons actual skin made of steel?” Tim asks without looking away from the screen.

“Our working hypothesis is Lex must have somehow injected him during the press conference at STAR Labs.” 

“Does that mean what happens to participants during their ‘treatment’ is all for show?”

“That’s the big flaw in our logic,” Bruce admits.

_[Announcer: And now, ‘You Are Wrong!’ with Jack Ryder!]_

From the chair he’s sprawled across, Tim picks up a piece of popcorn and tosses it at them. “Shhh! It’s starting.”

“That’s your influence,” Clark whispers.

“Unfortunately.”

_[Ryder: Point! Two weeks have passed since the massacre in Metropolis, where a group of Everyman heroes failed to stop an attack._

_Ryder: Point! Civilian casualties in the triple digits. Fatalities in the double digits. Lex Luthor of the Everyman Project says LexCorp isn't responsible...is the former President to blame? Doctor John Henry Irons is here in the studio and he certainly thinks so, but others disagree._

_Ryder: They've buried the last wannabe hero and hosed the blood off the sidewalk…now all that remains is to point the finger! Whose fault is it? I'm Jack Ryder, and you are wrong!_

_The image switches to a tight shot of Jack Ryder standing up and pointing his finger at the camera. Then zooms out to show John Irons, sitting to the left side of Ryder._

_Irons: You have a building on fire, you call the fire department, Jack! Not just because they have the tools, but because they've trained day after day in how to use them!_

_Ryder: And to hell with the citizen’s fire brigade?_

_Irons: There’s a difference between entering the burning building and passing buckets of water down a line. Heroism isn't something you get from a bottle. You want to blame someone for that massacre, blame Lex Luthor.]_

“Of course he is responsible for every one of those deaths." Clark huffs. "No way he didn't know the probable casualty rate from the Project. He just didn't care.”

_[Ryder: And that sounds like a cue to me._

_Announcer: Now joining Jack and Doctor Irons in the studio... Starlight, the leader of Infinity Inc.!_

_Starlight walks out and takes a seat to Ryder’s right, placing her directly across from Irons._

_Ryder: Thanks for joining us. Doctor Irons here has some interesting accusations about the Everyman Project._

_Starlight: Yeah, Jack, it’s called envy and most of us get over it by the time we’re ten._

_Ryder: But he raises some valid points regarding training._

_Starlight: I heard. First, Infinity Inc. trains for hours every day. Second, blaming Luthor for those deaths is like blaming Mozotto for selling a motorcycle to a kid who refuses to wear a helmet.]_

“Oh. My. God. Seriously?" Tim throws his hands up in the air. "That comparison doesn't even make sense!” 

Clark rolls his eyes. "Because a few hours a day, for roughly three months, clearly prepares you to fight crime."

_[Irons: No, it’s like selling a motorcycle to a kid who has no license! Luthor’s already on trial for crimes committed during his presidential admini—”_

_Starlight: Superboy was a hero who sacrificed himself for the planet. But he was just one hero, and he won't be there to save us in the future. We need to make sure we aren't just reliant on the Justice League to get us out of every crisis.]_

Bruce squeezes Clark close, then leans his head against Clark’s and softly says, “I’ve got you.”

Reaching up, he hugs Bruce’s arm. “I’m alright. I just hate how they use Conner’s memory for their PR.”

“Same. At least she called him a hero,” Tim mutters.

“Superheroes do what they do not just for people who sing their praises or want to put them on tv, but also for people who criticize and revile them. Heroes don’t do what they do because it’s popular. They do it because it’s _right_ ,” Bruce says. “I have a hard time seeing the distinction mattering to that team.”

_[Irons: You say that like the Justice League has ever failed to do just that. Or that heroes like Green Lantern, Hawk Girl and Supergirl are not out there protecting Metropolis right now._

_Starlight: Luthor has given everyone the opportunity to be a hero—]_

“Given powers to everyone who comes calling and can pay, she means.”

“Actually, it’s need-based,” Bruce deadpans.

Clark grumbles. "And why isn't anyone mentioning the glaringly obvious problem with assuming everyone wants powers so they can be a hero?” 

_[Irons: And he’ll take it away just as fast! These powers aren’t permanent! He can remove them!_

_Ryder: You have proof of that?_

_Irons: We have preliminary data that—_

_Starlight: Fact is, Jack, some of the old heroes are threatened by us, and instead of getting out there and doing the job, they’d rather sit around complaining and taking pieces out of the people who do._

_Irons: Heroism is borne of altruism! How altruistic can you be when you’re funded by Lexco—_

_Starlight: If you’ll excuse me, Jack, my earset is going off. There’s been an explosion in Hob’s Bay. You can stay here and be on TV. I have to go help._

_The camera pans to Starlight leaving and then back to Irons, before fading to black.]_

“The show made it seem like Irons doesn’t care,” Clark says as the screen clicks off.

“Yeah it really did, now that you mention it, and with him having Everyman powers too.” 

“The powers are why he’s not out there as Steel,” Bruce says. “Until he knows why Lex gave him powers, he’s worried about putting people in danger.” 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Tim says. “And, could Starlight have made heroes look any worse?” 

“Are they heroes?”

“Not in my book,” Clark replies. “Not when before getting powers, none of them was doing anything to help make the world better.”

“Exactly! We don't have powers, and yet we’re out there everynight fighting crime.”

“Kicking ass and taking names."

Grinning at his comment being repeated, Clark leans over and kisses Bruce’s cheek. “ _:Zhaolodh khahp rrup =I love you=_.”

“Ah!" Tim slaps a hand over his eyes. "Mushies!”

"Our child is a drama queen."

"He gets that from you."

"Says the man in the bat costume."

Bruce rolls his eyes. “To be fair, Tim, you had training before I let you go out on the streets.”

“Yeah, well, they’re the idiots out there playing superhero like they can just defeat criminals by simply being there.” Tim clasps his hands together, putting them to his chest and batting his eyelashes. “Oh, Mr. Two-Face, please don’t hurt me. I’m a superhero now. I have powers."

Clark sighs. “We’re trying to get them training.”

“It's like you said, Dad, they’re just in it for the powers. If they had the dedication to train, these people would…" He makes a rolling gesture with his hand. “I don’t know, be working in healthcare or public service or something.”

“Or journalism,” Bruce adds.

“Aww."

“You two are disgusting, you know that, right?” 

__________________________

  
_**Disturbance at School Opening** _  
_Clark Kent_  


_The reception for Luthor’s new business program was interrupted by an Everyman participant claiming that after receiving his metahuman abilities, they were subsequently taken away by LexCorp._

__________________________

After placing the tray on the table, Alfred goes to the window and throws open the curtains, flooding the bedroom with sunlight. 

“Bats are nocturnal,” Bruce growls without opening his eyes or moving his head from Clark’s chest, which he is currently using as a pillow, and pulls the covers up.

“I am aware. However, billionaire CEOs are not,” Alfred answered drolly. 

Clark carefully puts a hand on Bruce, nudging just a little, knowing from years of experience that Bruce is decidedly _not_ a morning person.

“Go away.”

“I would stand before any force in the universe for you, Bruce. _Except_ Alfred.”

“Traitor.”

“But pancakes, B.”

Alfred returns to the bedside and pours a cup of a coffee that he passes over. “Just so, Master Clark.” 

Taking the saucer, Clark waves it near Bruce. “He brought coffee…”

“Ugh. I hate you.” A head of messy black hair comes up from under the blanket to grab the steaming cup and glare. 

“Please refrain from dallying too long. We have guests,” Alfred says before leaving the room.

“It's just Ma and Pa. They really shouldn’t count as guests.” Clark gives Bruce a sheepish smile and accepts the empty cup that’s thrust at him, placing it back on the tray.

“I can think of much better ways for you to wake me up,” Bruce husks and buries his face into Clark’s neck, where he alternates between licking and sucking at the tender flesh. 

“Don’t you dare leave a hickey,” he warns. “We have guests.” 

“You just said your parents don’t qualify as guests.” Bruce looks at him, wide eyed and pouting. 

“Puppy dog eyes are _my_ superpower.” 

“I'm aware."

He glances over and then slaps his hand over his eyes in a vain attempt to hide from Bruce’s patented ‘fuck me’ eyes. “Shit,” Clark mutters, even as his cock twitches and his face flushes with heat.

“We’ll be fast."

Feeling Bruce's thick erection digging into his thigh, Clark knows there's no way they are getting out of bed. Having accepted that fact, he pushes Bruce over onto his back and stretches out along the muscular lines of his body. Bruce’s cock, heavy and wet, throbs between them. Clark winds his fingers through Bruce’s hair and begins to grind his hips down, slow and hard.

Bruce rakes his nails down the corded muscle of Clark’s back and hooks one arm behind his neck. Throwing his head back, he exposes more of his neck to Bruce, who immediately latches on, worrying at it with his lips and teeth. His hips lift to meet Clark's movements, joining the building rhythm.

Bruce moans and grinds up against Clark, trying to create more friction on his cock. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Yeah,” Clark breathes and drops his head to suck at Bruce’s neck, before whispering sinful things in his ear. 

Bruce's thrusts become more forceful, more aggressive. He adjusts the angle of his hips again, until the head of his cock slides up against Clark’s, rubbing the sensitive rims back and forth. His hips rock with quick little jerks.

“ _Kal_.” He fists his hands into the sheets, presses his face into the curve of Clark’s neck, and comes in thick ropes, wet warmth spreading along his thighs and stomach. 

Spent, Bruce shifts just enough to grasp Clark's cock, pumping hard and fast. Exactly how he likes it. Once, twice and then Clark's falling over the edge with a shudder. His body goes slack as Bruce strokes him through his orgasm. Opting not to just collapse onto Bruce, even if it would serve him right for starting it, Clark instead flips over onto his side. 

Bruce turns his head and, with a wide cheshire grin, says, “So. Shower?”

* * *

“There you boys are!” Martha exclaims with a delighted smile as the two make their way into the room. “I was worried you would miss the parade.”

“Hi, Ma.” Clark leans down and kisses her cheek. 

Bruce follows suit, asking, “Alfred kicked you out of the kitchen again?”

“When doesn’t he?” 

“As long as he keeps letting you make the pies,” Clark says.

Tim nods enthusiastically from the chair he’s draped over. “Seriously. Your pies are the best, Grandma” 

“It’s the love I mix in,” she replies with a grin and a wink.

Jonathan laughs. “Even after all these years, I can never tell if she’s kidding or not.”

_[Metropolis Thanksgiving Day parade. Large balloons. Full crowd._

_Announcer: In the sky, kids! They aren’t birds! Or planes! They’re brave men and women just like you! With powers and abilities you could one day share, thanks to Lex Luthor!]_

Dick pouts at the screen. “Hey, how come there’s never a parade with massive balloons of us?”

“I’d rather not be blown up to that size.” 

“Speak for yourself, little brother. I would look fabulous.” Dick preens. Cass punches him. “Ugh! Not my fault you chose me as your pillow!”

Chuckling, Clark wraps his arms around Cass after she relocates to his lap, before turning his attention to the screen. 

_[The six members of Infinity Inc. fly into camera view._

_Announcer: Skyman who can ride the winds! Starlight, a living beacon of light! Nuklon whose claws seem capable of slicing through anything they touch! Everyman who is able to morph into any form! Matrix with superhuman strength and invisibility! And everyone’s favorite angry guy, the super strong centurion Fury! Infinity Inc.!]_

"I thought Everyman was the treatment?"

"It is." Clark rolls his eyes. "Lex’s PR people sure dropped the ball naming him after the project, it makes for no end of confusion.”

“His real name is Hannibal Bates, so I can see why they’d want him known as _anything_ but that," Tim says with a snort. 

Martha looks horrified. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“I know, right? Who names their kid that? It’s just asking for him to be a serial killer.” 

_[Starlight: To everyone who came out so early on Thanksgiving Day to see us, we’re all very thankful for your support. God bless America! God bless Lex Luthor!_

_Loud cheering._

_Skyman: And now I’d like to introduce you all to the newest member of Infinity Incorporated! She was a student before the wonderful miracle of the Everyman Project...but today, we’d like you to meet...Jade!_

_Jade: For years we’ve watched Wonder Woman, Batman and Superman make mistakes. And we couldn’t do anything but hope they’d get back on the right path. Today, Lex Luthor has put that hope in our hands. With the gifts we’ve been given, and the perspective of real people, we’re going to do their jobs better!]_

“Says the girl who just started,” Dick grumbles.

Jonathan frowns.“Since when does being a hero make you infallible?” 

“They could be, and it wouldn’t make a hoot of difference. That girl has been brainwashed by Lex.” Martha shakes her head and blows a breath out. “Who is doing his dang fool best to make all of you look bad.” 

“It’s alright, Ma.” 

“No it’s _not_. You all have saved that city, and the planet, so many times.”

Bruce glances over and arches a brow. “I think we should let Martha loose on Lex.”

“He’d be begging to go to Blackgate.” Dick snickers. 

“Oh, stop.” Blushing, she leans into Jonathan.

_[Shattering glass. Screaming people._

_Announcer: It seems Obsidian is attacking Jade!]_

"What’s happening?"

"The first hero called Jade was Obsidian's sister. She was killed during The Crisis, and Lantern is their father," Clark explains.

"Those poor folks," Jonathan says. "I don't imagine someone trying to take her place is an easy thing to stomach."

_[The video feed switches to someone on the ground who is running. The picture comes back into focus. Obsidian hovers as Lantern turns to the members of Infinity Inc._

_Lantern: It’s over._

_Skyman: Over? Your son just attacked one of our teammates!_

_Lantern: You’re lucky that’s all he did, 'Skyman'. You don’t have any idea—_

_Skyman: Hey, hold on a second, grandpa! Like Jade said, I’m here to do a better job than he ever did._

_Nuklon: Listen, man. When the world goes to hell, when everything looks like it’s going to end, I promise you, I’ll be the first one running into battle, with Infinity Inc. at my side. You need to finally face it. The world doesn’t need antiques watching out for it when it's got hundreds of kids like us._

_The video feed switches back to the last shots of the parade.]_

"Two members of that team having powers identical to former heroes must be the mother of all coincidences,” Jonathan says. 

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Bruce replies.

Martha’s brows furrow. “So you’re saying Lex can pick what powers people get?”

"Yes." Clark looks over at his parents and explains. “Doctor Irons is a member of the League who fights under the name of Steel. Lex activated his meta abilities without his consent, resulting in his skin turning to, well, steel."

“I’m just a simple farmer, but why force it on someone when people are willing to pay for it?”

“There’s some kind of history between them, Pa. Don’t know what, but Irons says it has no bearing on this, so we’re not pushing the issue.” 

"Sounds about right,” Martha says. “Lex can sure hold a grudge and he’s always been all about power."

Bruce nods his agreement. "Which is probably why he also gave himself the ability to turn off any Everyman participant's abilities."

“What?” Dick sits up.

“Based on what I saw the night Trajectory died, we suspected Lex might be able to.”

“Then Ferry came forward claiming his powers had been removed," Bruce says. "At first we thought it was a question of procedure, that he had a second treatment that took his powers away, but Ferry swears he never returned to LexCorp after the initial therapy. He provided blood samples to Irons, and there was nothing metahuman about it. Not anymore.” 

“So how do you know he can?”

“We don’t. Not for sure. However, there has to be something that accounts for it. We’re currently thinking an implementation device is injected during therapy, and that once used, it destroys itself after deactivation.” 

Dick nods. “Which would hide all traces. Clever.” 

“That’s why we need a sample from a participant who still has their powers, because if we’re right, we should see it,” Bruce says.

“Nat still won’t talk to Irons?” Tim asks and then glancing at his grandparents adds, “She is the head of Infinity Inc., and also Irons’ niece.”

“No, but you know how stubborn teenagers can be.” Clark grins.

“I’m not stubborn.”

Cass picks her head up and looks at her brother.

“You’re supposed to support me,” Tim huffs.

“To be fair,” Dick interjects, “stubbornness is basically a prerequisite for being a Robin.”

“I don’t think that helps,” he grumbles.

Martha listens intently. “Doesn’t Irons have his powers?”

“Yeah, he does, Ma, but we think there isn’t a shut off for his, as Lex would certainly have anticipated his blood being tested.”

“Although proving their abilities can be turned off won’t matter for much longer,” Bruce says. “Irons' steel skin has completely peeled off, leaving no trace of meta abilities.”

Clark blinks rapidly a few times and pushes his glasses back up with a frown. "What? Since when?" 

"He contacted me last night."

Dick’s jaw drops. “Oh my God, there’s an expiration date.”

“Why would it be designed that way? I mean, wouldn’t that be bad for business?” Jonathan asks.

“Exceedingly,” Bruce says. “Even assuming an ironclad contract that prevents participants from suing, LexCorp stock will still plumet, divesting him of the major source of his money and power.”

Tim rolls his eyes. "What an idiot. If that was the plan all along he should have made the therapy subscription based instead of a flat fee."

Not for the first time, Clark’s really, _really_ grateful that Bruce knows his true wealth lies in his family. He could lose every penny and all the people in the room with them now would still be there.

“So how long _do_ they last?” Dick asks.

“Six months. Assuming Irons is indicative of all Everyman participants.”

“Damn.” He winces when ‘language’ echoes from every voice in the room.

“Are you causing trouble, Master Richard?” Alfred inquires from the doorway.

“You know me, Al, wouldn’t want things to get boring around here.”

“No, we certainly wouldn’t want that."

Tim rights himself in his chair and looks expectedly at Alfred. “Does this mean it’s time to eat?”

“Indeed it is.” 

Shooing Cass off his lap, Clark says, “Alright guys, go help carry dishes in and wash your hands before you sit down.” 

“Clark was always the same way,” Martha says with a laugh as all three kids go bounding out of the room. “You would think I never fed him.” 

“Ma,” he groans. Not that she is wrong, but it makes it no less embarrassing. He supposes he should be grateful that at least here she can’t pull out the photo albums to illustrate the point. 

Clark had seriously thought about moving full time to the moon the first time she insisted on showing them to Bruce, who was far too delighted to oblige her. 

Of course, it didn’t help that Bruce looked gorgeous even in 'caught in the act' tabloid exposés . There were just no horribly bad pictures of Bruce.

Bruce gets up and then with a wink, offers him a hand. “Shall we?”

Taking it, Clark decides maybe he doesn’t actually mind how ridiculously good looking Bruce is after all. 

__________________________

  
_**Intergang in Metropolis** _  
_Clark Kent_  


_Under the leadership of boss Bruno Mannheim, Intergang—known for violence and murder throughout the world—now has a foothold in the city. Police expect a sharp increase in illegal activity._

__________________________

“I was able to procure a copy of the new piece on Superman,” Bruce says before the screen lights up. 

_[It opens on Krypton, then moves through space to Earth, showing Superman's infant journey._

_Narrator: One desperate soul, one tiny spark of life, lost, alone and friendless, fleeing the dying planet Krypton. Hurled into space during that fabled planet's final throes, by loving parents who saved their son, though they could not escape themselves. On Earth, he found a new home, and learned to use his mighty, star-spawned powers, and embraced Truth, Justice and the American Way.]_

“I was unaware they had Banana Republic on Krypton,” Alfred remarks drolly.

Hanging half off the chair, Tim demands, "Do you believe the actress they have playing Grandma? What is she, twenty-three?”

“The pet collie named Skipper was fairly accurate,” Clark points out. “Shelby was a Border Collie and Rusty’s a Golden Retriever.”

“They totally needed Krypto with some cool CGI of him flying in his little spaceship. Missed a prime opportunity,” Tim says with a grin. 

“They have you growing up in Chicago.” Bruce shakes his head with a laugh. “Your cowboy, corn field, apple pie accent is bad enough, sounding like you're from Chicaaaago would be just too much,” he says with distinctly nasally vowels and a slew of dropped consonants. 

Tim claps. “That was really good!”

Clark rolls his eyes. “For your information, that’s the basis of the ‘General American’ dialect.”

_[The first articles, speculating on who the 'Super-boy' was, change into the first ones of Superman._

_Narrator: He came to Metropolis as a young man, to place himself in the heart of one of the world's great cities, bustling with life and with hope. And here it was, in Metropolis, that men and women learned to look to the sky-to catch a glimpse of our shining sentinel-our indomitable protector: Superman.]_

“I can’t believe Grandma would ever let you hitchhike to Metropolis.”

“Not at that age, no.”

“I should hope not,” Alfred says.

Tim scrunches up his nose. “But working at a pizza joint?” 

“They got the broad strokes, and I did actually work a lot of odd jobs before I became a journalist.” He laughs and flashes a smile. “Besides, we wouldn’t want them to get all the little details right, would we?”

_[Sequences of still photos from after the world thought Superman dead followed by interviews and then reactions to his return.]_

Clark worries at his lip as he watches, guilt stirring in his gut. Does he have the right to just enjoy a normal life? Should he be trying harder to get his powers back? 

He glances over when Bruce squeezes his hand and entwines their fingers—the man can always read him like an open book—wondering, not for the first time, if guilt at not feeling guilt is even a thing. 

_[Superman taking down one of the Doomsday monsters released during the Battle of Metropolis._

_Narrator: The last of his memorable triumphs! Since that day, Superman has not been seen again in the skies of Earth, but wherever he is today, and whatever he’s doing, the citizens of Metropolis and the people of Earth have one message for our favorite son: we wish him well._

_Fades to credits.]_

“I liked it. It felt, I don’t know,” Clark says, waving his hand as he searches for the word. “Heartfelt. Warm. More like a 'thank you' than a 'why have you abandoned us?' approach.” For which he is grateful. If the people of Metropolis can wish him well, maybe he doesn’t need to feel guilt over his new, quieter, life. 

“Okay, the special effects were good,” Tim relents. ‘I could have done without the bombastic narration, though.”

Alfred nods. “It wasn’t without a certain corn-fed charm. Will it be in theaters?” 

“No. It’s what will be shown about Superman in Metropolis on Remembrance Day. There will also be a general one on the League,” Bruce says.

Tim rights himself in the chair. “So will Gotham be showing one on Batman?”

“Yes, and the other major cities will have them as well.” Clark grins. “Ready to see your name in lights?” 

“Dad,” he groans, flushing a bright red. 

“It is good that everyone will be honored,” Alfred says, getting to his feet. “Are you staying in here to watch the ball drop, Master Timothy? Shall I bring additional refreshments?”

“And end up having to watch those two kiss at midnight? No way!” He sticks his tongue out and mimics throwing up at the thought.

“Indeed. I just paid this month’s counseling bill,” Alfred deadpans. 

In response, Bruce tugs Clark into a kiss, lips twitching with amusement when Tim runs from the room, yelling about child abuse. 

Breaking the kiss with a soft laugh, Clark leans back into the wide expanse of Bruce’s chest. “Good night, Alfred.”

“Alfred.” Bruce inclines his head. 

“Good night, Sirs. Enjoy your evening.”

“Maybe we should’ve promised Tim there'd be no mushy stuff?” 

“Somehow, I doubt he'd believe us. He's smart like that."

“It’s just that this is the first New Year’s Eve without Conner.” 

“I know.” He kisses the top of Clark’s head and holds him tight. “Tim needs to figure out how to do this, and who he is, without his best friend. I don’t think he wants people walking on glass around him.”

“But—”

“Regardless of if they really are or not.” 

“I guess so,” Clark relents with a sigh. “I just worry.”

“Fairly certain ‘worry’ is listed next to ‘parent’ in the dictionary.”

Clark arches his brows. “Says the man who has tracking devices on all of the kids, with around-the-clock satellite surveillance.”

“Mhhmm.” Bruce clicks on the television. 

_[The camera pans over the crowd, before moving up a metal a-frame tower, slowing almost to a stop at the flag with the Superman ‘S’ on it that’s attached midway up, before continuing to the giant glowing ball hanging at the very top._

_O’Neil: This is April O’Neil, live from Metropolis’s LexCorp circle with a rockin’ hero-filled New Year’s party! Metropolis skies are brimming with heroes from Luthor’s Everyman Project celebrating the first New Year’s since the global Crisis._

_The ball starts spinning, the lights pulsing._

_O’Neil: This is it! The countdown is about to start!]_

“We’re supposed to kiss at midnight,” Clark scolds playfully when Bruce pulls him in tight.

Bruce nuzzles at his neck. “Just getting ready.”

_[As the ball drops, cheers become screams of terror. The camera pulls back, showing brightly clad heroes plunging from the skies like anvils._

_O’Neil: Only seconds ago, Everyman heroes started falling from the skies...It appears their powers have failed, causing mass panic in Metropolis Square where hundreds of thousands are gathered to mark the New Year. People who are now praying that they’ll live to see it!]_

“Christ,” Bruce says. 

Clark puts a hand to his face, watching in horrified disbelief.

_[The camera moves to the heroes on the ground crying for help before the feed ends.]_

“Rao...so many…”

“Even if we had been there, we wouldn’t have been able to help,” he says, and reaches out with two fingers gently turning Clark’s face to him so he can make eye contact. “Listen to me, Kal. This is _not_ your fault. There is nothing you could have done.”

“Maybe not as Clark.”

Bruce puts a hand to the back of Clark's neck and draws him closer, forehead to forehead. “Not even as Superman.”

He forces himself to take a deep breath. “You know, GL said I was doing good work in helping the people of Metropolis as a journalist, but that I could do so much more with the right tools.”

“I assume this is when he offered you the power ring.”

“Yeah, and to be honest, when I put it on, I was expecting a big green ‘S’ or something. Certainly more than just me with a green glow.” He gives the softest huff of a humorless laugh. “I mean, Hal always shows up in uniform.”

“Ah, the _real_ reason you turned it down.”

Clark shakes his head and rolls his eyes, as a smile starts to creep onto his face. “I told him I’d think about it, but I never did.”

“Because you knew that was the right call.”

“Well, the ring itself gave me the answer. It reacts to the wearer’s mind, to their conscious and unconscious thoughts, and if I thought of myself as Superman….”

“It would have shown you as Superman.”

“Yes, or a green Superman, anyway.” 

“But it showed you as Clark, because that’s how you see yourself. I wondered if you’d noticed that.”

“ _You_ noticed, though, and you didn’t say anything?”

“It was your decision to make, Kal,” he says and lifting Clark’s hand, presses his lips gently to the back of it. “I’ve never had powers, while you’ve never _not_ had them. So, if it was what you wanted, I wasn’t going to stop you.”

“Rao, _:Zhaolodh khahp rrup =I love you=_ —” He doesn’t get to finish as Bruce claims his mouth. With a moan, he parts his lips in welcome to Bruce, who wastes no time licking into his mouth. He loves the way Bruce kisses, with precision focus, and unrestrained passion. It's both intoxicating and overwhelming. It makes Clark a bit light headed, but he’s happy to give over control, and instead just loses himself entirely in the feeling. 

Bruce breaks away, stands up, toes off his shoes and undoes his belt, before planting a knee on the couch. Looming, he gives Clark a blatant once-over and licks his lips.

“Just so you know," Clark says as he scrambles to unbutton his jeans, "if Alfred catches us, I’m telling him this was all _your_ idea.” 


	4. Chapter 4

  
_**Lex Luthor Deemed Flight Risk** _  
_Clark Kent_  


_Judge orders Luthor taken into custody pending trial. The primary charges against him are criminal negligence and endangerment, due to his direct involvement in the 'rain of the supermen' tragedy._

__________________________

Clark looks up at the LexCorp Tower logo, and can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction that this is where justice will _finally_ catch up to Luthor. Scanning the crowd, he easily spots Irons in his steel mech-suit, and makes his way over. “Nice to see that, once again, the only steel on you is from your suit.” 

Laughing, he shakes Clark’s hand. “Thanks. Feels good to be back.”

"And, I hear the Metropolis PD Chief personally requested you be here for this."

"Yeah. Give my thanks to our pointy eared friend."

Clark flashes his best clueless smile, then motions with his chin towards the young woman in the polished silver and blue steel. “I see Natasha finally finished her suit.” 

“She understands, now, what I was trying to tell her about earning it, and about Luthor, but it was a brutal lesson."

“How’s she doing now?”

“The physical injuries have healed, but mentally…" Clenching his fists, Irons shakes his head. "That bastard rewarded Nat's loyalty by kidnapping and beating her, after murdering two of her teammates, including her boyfriend.”

"Wait. Two?" 

"Skyman."

Frowning, he pushes his glasses up on his nose. “But I've seen him recently?”

“That was Hannibal. And if only that was the worst of it. Nat found him _eating_ pieces of Skyman.”

"Shit." Clark grimaces and thinks maybe he should start using grunts, like Bruce, and just let people interpret them how they will. 

“Understatement, and Nat’s consumed by guilt for not seeing it.”

“The ‘what if’ spiral. I’ve been there,” he says. “I could talk with her?” When Irons raises his eyebrows, he elaborates, “About my _other_ job.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. I want to help her and I think I can. Maybe remind her that, in spite of Lex, Infinity Inc. _did_ save lives, and that was because of her.” Clark smiles. "And I owe her for figuring out how to turn off Lex’s meta abilities. I shudder to think about the destruction he could have done with all of Superman’s powers, but none of the weaknesses."

“Thank you, Clark.”

“Of course.” Noting the commotion at the entrance, he steps back behind Irons, notepad in hand. Watching Luthor being led out in handcuffs, something Clark can’t place tugs at the back of his mind, and he's been a reporter long enough to pay attention to that voice, which always seems to sound annoyingly like Lois. 

Trusting his gut that _something_ is off, Clark carefully scans the scene again, focusing on Lex. And then it hits him. It’s _not_ Luthor. The fake’s good, Clark will admit, but he's known Lex since they were kids. The posture and gait are slightly off. Then there's the fact Mercy, who may as well be Lex’s shadow, is nowhere to be seen. “Son of a—That’s not Luthor!'

Irons turns towards him, doubt written across his face. "Come again."

"Trust me, it's _not_ him.”

"Then who is—Hannibal."

"It has to be. Somehow he must still have his powers."

"Fuck. What are the odds Luthor’s not already halfway to a country with no extradition treaty?"

"Actually, probably pretty good." Clark huffs. "He'd want to be here for this."

Irons snaps his fingers. "I memorized the blueprints before we went to rescue Nat, and there was a lead-lined room, which I’d bet money is where he’s hiding."

Grinning in agreement, Clark says, “Old habits do die hard.”

"Chief! This way, hurry!” Irons calls out. 

Clark waits to make sure the police officers are following, before running after Irons, who dashes down corridors, making lefts and rights without hesitation, finding the door without a single wrong turn. "Careful," Clark warns, "he’ll have Mercy with him."

"Would one of you tell me what the hell is going on?" 

“Something you need to see to believe, Chief.”

Iron swings his hammer, crashing in the door with a single swing. “Knock, knock.”

Turning, glass of champagne in hand, Luthor quirks a brow. "It's polite to knock _before_ breaking down the door, Doctor Irons."

"Luthor?" 

“Chief, the man you took into custody was really Luthor’s pet shapeshifter,” Clark explains. 

“I have no idea what Mr. Kent is talking about.”

"I don't care how you did it, Luthor, I’m still placing you under arrest." 

Extending his wrists out to the chief, he says, “Oh my, the arraignment was _today_? My lawyers are clearly at fault for giving me the wrong date."

“Clearly.” The Lois voice in Clark’s head starts screaming when he realizes Mercy isn't in the room. He scowls, certain that whatever machination Lex has her working on won’t end well for anyone. 

____________________

  
_**LexCorp to be Dismantled?** _  
_Clark Kent_  


_With consumers avoiding LexCorp brands in increasing numbers, the board of directors will vote on breaking up the company, and on selling off profitable divisions to cover their enormous and rising losses._

_________________________

Clark had to do a lot of groveling to convince Perry not to fire him following The Crisis, and it had taken months of hard work after that to prove he could be reliable. Unsurprising, given that for years, he'd been anything but. The fact he's now standing at the Criminal Courts Building is a sign of his success in doing so. However, considering it's covering the day Lex Luthor goes scot-free, Clark kind of wishes maybe he hadn't been. 

Although he supposes it does prove he was right, Mercy’s mission did turn out badly for everyone. Because, while Lex’s lawyers dance their dance well, Clark doubts even they could pull this off. No, Lex had more than gamed the system, he'd bought it, leaving him untouchable and smiling. 

Fuck. That. 

Clark’s had _enough_. 

Enough of Lex’s influence and money allowing him to trample the law and escape, of him thinking wealth gives him the right to work the system with reckless disregard. Clark _will_ find a way to take him down and make it stick.

After walking out of the courthouse doors, Luthor stops at the top stair and holds his arms open wide, as if to embrace the crowd. “Ahh, people of Metropolis! My favorite faces, in my favorite town! It’s so good to be back among you, vindicated as I knew I would be. Good to breathe our city air as a free man!" 

“Bought the judge!”

Luthor’s jaw twitches. "I’m sure there are questions?”

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet. You’ve been cleared of an astounding list of crimes, Lex, including high treason and election fraud, blaming it on—”

“Let’s put the past behind us," Lex says with a dismissive wave. "What does the future hold, that’s what you want to know. It’s time for me to come home."

“Guilty sonofa—”

"To step back into the CEO chair at LexCorp, and rebuild my neglected company. I see a new wave of prosperity for Metropolis.”

Aware that the energy of the crowd behind him is ratcheting up, Clark is still caught off guard when a rock strikes Luthor in the head. As Luthor’s security team sweeps him towards the waiting limousine, he hears one of the guards growl, “Hey! You cops keep them animals under control.” Clark groans internally, and actually finds himself wishing Mercy was around. She'd at least keep things civil.

“It’s all right,” Luthor says loud enough that everyone can hear. “The officers are doing their best. The people are just upset. Misinformed. I have every faith that they’ll calm down, once they’ve had time to think.”

“Killed my brother, you lousy, baldheaded—”

Moments after the door closes behind Lex, from somewhere in the crowd, a brick is thrown, which becomes lodged in the passenger side window. Clark watches as, in order to clear a path for the limo, the police have to bodily hold back the angry crowd screaming for Luthor’s blood. It’s a scene he’d expect to see in Gotham, not Metropolis. 

Violence aside, Clark’s heartened by the reaction of the crowd. Lex miscalculated. While he may have purchased a legal win, he’d still lost. Lost his good name, his reputation, and most importantly, the trust of the city that once loved him. And Clark will be there at every step, to slice through the darkness and shine light on the truth. Lex will never again be able to use the people of Metropolis as pawns in his games.

__________________________

  
_**Lex Luthor Bankrupt** _  


_LexCorp Board of Directors has ousted Luthor, buying out his equity and severing all ties. The company’s value has declined to the point that the buyout will not cover Luthor’s considerable legal debts._

__________________________

Clark stares down the street that houses hundreds of the greatest scientific minds in the world, all racing to crack the fifth dimension, or replicate the powers of a Sun-Eater before anyone else. Holding the phone against his ear, he says, "I'm going to interview some guy named Abernathy. One of those 'with every step I take, the world of science trembles before me' types." 

"Perry punishing you?" Bruce asks, amusement clear in the timber of his voice.

"Funny. I _requested_ it as a possible lead on Intergang, and Metallo."

"And how does Metallo factor in?" 

"...Abernathy is trying to use kryptonite to develop a new energy source."

"Kryptonite."

He can just see the look on Bruce’s face. "Maybe it's not a bad idea?"

"Kal."

"What? It'd be nice if someone came up with something _good_ to do with it, for once."

"Right. Because a man who is financed by Intergang, and partners with Metallo, is assuredly working towards the betterment of all mankind."

"I said he _might_ be."

"I'll put him on my watch list."

"Such a naysayer."

"Where are you?" Bruce asks.

"Like you’re not tracking me."

"Of course I am. I was being polite."

Clark rolls his eyes, and in his best announcer voice, replies, "The Avenue of Tomorrow. Home to dozens of America's top scientists and research labs, funded by corporations, grants, and rich men and women with nothing better to do."

"You sound like a tourism brochure."

He laughs. "And why _isn't_ your name on something down here?"

"Because I have a whole _facility_ for research," Bruce replies primly.

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Bazillionaire."

At the sound of an explosion, Clark ducks down and quickly scans for the source. He doesn’t have to look far. A green-skinned man jumps from the smoldering rubble of the second floor lab, and lands in the middle of the street. A moment later, green laser beams shoot from his eyes, as he screams, “It burns! It burns! Somebody make it stop!” 

Abernathy. It has to be. He should have known better. Nothing good _ever_ comes from kryptonite.

"Kal!"

"I'm okay, B.”

"Call Kara."

"Already on it." He slips his phone away and then activates his signal watch, sending out a beacon on a frequency only audible to Kryptonians.

“Wait a minute," Abernathy says after getting control of the beams. "I...can see the radioactivity all around me. Isotopes that have yet to be discovered or harnessed. Primordial radioactive power inside the earth and the air...inside people.”

Supergirl arrives in a blur of blue and red. After first getting nearby innocent bystanders out of danger, she turns her attention to containment. "Alright, Mister Kryptonite Man, a little lead to deal with the rads,” Using heat vision, she slices into the body of a garbage truck, cutting a large section from the side. 

“A little heat vision to heat it up." Dropping the truck piece on Abernathy, Supergirl again activates her heat vision, causing the metal to turn molten and pour over him. 

"This won't hold me. Not for a second! When I'm free, girl, you'll burn. You—"

Blowing on the metal with her ice breath, it solidifies again, effectively trapping the scientist. "And then cool it back down."

Watching as Kara's quick thinking allows her to secure Abernathy before the kryptonite can weaken her too much, Clark’s chest fills with pride at how far she’s come in the last year. As she flies Abernathy off to the authorities, Clark makes a mental note to follow up and catch the arraignment, in case there _is_ an Intergang connection.

“Mr. Kent?”

Pulled from his reverie by the gruff voice, he stops. Spotting the man who asked, he pushes his glasses up and says, “Yes, I’m Clark Kent. What is—” 

“No struggling, Kent. No noise. Someone wants to talk to you.”

At the feel of the gun in his side, Clark's mouth goes dry. Heartbeat thundering in his ears, he swallows hard and nods. Walking towards the end of a poorly lit alley, Clark wonders if maybe he _should_ have made noise and struggled, gun or not.

“You’ve had a good year, Clark.” Lex steps forward. “Very good. And all those stories about 'the fall of Luthor' have been a big part of it, haven’t they?” 

Held fast by the goons on either side of him, Clark can do nothing to protect himself when Lex knees him in the groin. He can’t process how he’s now on the ground, only that he's curling in on himself, hand between his legs. Clark’s sure he’s never felt worse pain in his life. Not even from kryptonite. Now he understands why Bruce wears an armored codpiece. Certain he’s about to throw his lunch up, Clark forces himself to his hands. If he's lucky, it'll get all over Lex’s shoes and ruins them. 

“As you already know, despite my acquittal, the LexCorp board bought me out.”

"Too bad they didn't do it sooner. Then you wouldn't be penniless."

He's not sure if moving will only make it worse. That dilemma is solved the next moment when Lex kicks him in the ribs. 

"I’m not welcome at my own company anymore!" Kick. “They said my 'public profile' was damaging the company!" Kick. 

Gritting his teeth, he thinks there must be classes in goon school on how to make every injury hurt _more_ as the pair grab Clark's arms and drag him back to his feet, only to then simultaneously kick out his knees from behind. The guards allow him to fall to his knees, but not the ground. He's at a total loss how Bruce takes beatings a million times worse, and yet is still out there night after night. Because everything in Clark's body hurts, just from this. And there's _nothing_ he can do to stop it. As the weight of the situation presses down on him, he focuses on trying to slow his rapid breathing.

"I’m not welcome in my own city!" He draws his gun and aims it directly at Clark.

Every rational thought Clark has is instantly replaced with unadulterated terror. If Lex truly does intend to shoot him, there's nothing he can do to prevent it. Trembling, sweat runs down the side of his face and his chest heaves. Clark’s not the bulletproof Man of Steel anymore. He’s Powerless. 

Defenseless. 

Vulnerable. 

Clark gets the briefest of glimpses into what he imagines it was like for nine-year-old Bruce, looking down the barrel of a gun, pointed at him in a dark alley by a psychopath. The difference is that Clark isn’t a child. So he decides, if he’s going to die here, then it will be on his own terms. Pushing down the panic threatening to overwhelm him, Clark squares his shoulders and says, “You dug this hole yourself, Lex. I’m not going to stop reporting the truth about you just because you bark at me in some dark alley.”

“And if I threaten your partner? I wouldn’t kill her, you know, I like Lois too much. But losing an arm…an eye…” 

“Go to hell, Lex.”

Lex sneers. "No more stories, Clark. You have a talent for telling details, the image that sticks in the reader’s mind. No more of them.” 

“It won’t help you, Lex. You’ve fallen too far, dug yourself too deep. You’re finished,” Clark says with a hell of a lot more bravado than he feels. For which he gets the butt of Lex’s gun to the face. Tasting the bitter copper of blood, he’s sure his lip is already swelling.

“I’m Lex Luthor. I’m never finished.” After holstering his gun and adjusting his suit jacket, he snaps his fingers, then walks away without a second glance.

When the goons let go, Clark falls forward, barely managing to catch himself before he ends up face first in the dirt. Sitting back on his heels, he takes out his phone and just stares at it. He needs to get himself together before he calls. The phone rings first, ‘Bruce’ flashing on the screen. Hands trembling, Clark pushes the button and lifts it to his ear. "Bruce…"

* * *

“I really think this is overkill,” Clark protests.

“I don’t.” 

Clark sighs and undresses. Bruce insisted on checking him over head-to-toe for injuries, and given his refusal to budge on the issue, Clark should probably be grateful they are in their bathroom and not downstairs in the cave. Just the thought of being naked in front of Alfred makes him blush. He’d probably die of embarrassment if it actually happened. 

“Lex is normally less hands on and more death by monologue. He must _really_ hate those articles.”

“Seriously. He has more than the collected works of Shakespeare.” Clark snorts. “Probably thinks he’s Hamlet.”

Satisfied he’s identified all of the injuries that require attention, Bruce gently pushes on Clark’s shoulders, directing him to sit on the edge of the Chaise Lounge. “Probably, when really, he’s Titus Andronicus."

"A man whose own hubris and thirst for revenge costs him everything. Sounds about right.” Taking the ice pack from Bruce, he holds it against the side of his throbbing face. “Lex likes to think he’s all intellect, but he’s emotional, always has been. If I push him hard enough, he’ll make a mistake."

"Your face says you already have. And I love it when you crusade, you know that. Hell, I’m regularly your source of information, but _no_ story is worth taking risks with your life,” Bruce says. “What if the person waiting in that alley had been Mannheim?” 

“I…” 

“And how did you even end up in that fucking alley in the first place?” he demands.

Clark fidgets, having desperately hoped he could get through everything without having to mention the guns. Maybe he still can. “There were two goons.”

“I taught you to fight without powers just for situations like this. If you couldn’t fight, you could have run.” 

Or not. Taking a steadying breath and then lets the words tumble forth. “One of them had a gun. I did consider doing something on the street, but then I thought that would be dumb, I mean, the guy had a gun. It wasn’t until I was part way down the alley that I realized what a colossally bad decision that had been. By then I was stuck, and the gun… the gun was always there. All I could think about was how I’m _not bulletproof_ anymore, and how I’d never seen Lex that angry.”

Moving the ice pack aside, Bruce looks at the side of Clark’s face again. “Lex had a gun.” It isn’t a question. 

Clark’s face crumples as he loses the fight to keep the tears from springing to his eyes, and when Bruce's arms wrap around him, he's so relieved that he barely even registers the pain in his ribs. “I was so scared."

"I've got you. You're safe," he murmurs into Clark’s hair.

"I didn't know what to do."

"You did the right thing. You came home alive."

"You are my world." He cups Bruce's face, tracing his cheekbone with a thumb, while a fingertip strokes his jaw, just admiring for a moment, before finally kissing him. "I will _always_ come back."

"I’m sorry. I—It's just the thought of losing you, Kal.”

“You won’t.” Seeing Bruce like this—laying himself open and completely vulnerable—always leaves him a little breathless, and makes his heart thunder. The trust on display speaks as loudly as the words Bruce doesn't know how to say. He doesn’t want to push, so with a lopsided grin, he adds, “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. Forever and ever.” 

Bruce snorts. “Heh.”

“...but, digging out the truth for the world to see is how Clark Kent brings these people down. Lex, Intergang, anyone. And it's working," he says. "Lex’s reputation is finally destroyed. He can’t manipulate the system anymore, can’t trick people into trusting him.” 

“Maybe not, but unless he’s behind bars, he’s free to create havoc. You know this isn’t over yet.” Bruce kneels and takes Clark’s hand, carefully removing the gravel embedded in his palm.

“I know. Near the end of Lex’s trial, there were odd attacks on LexCorp. Warehouses burned. Research stations blown up. I think Lex was making contingency plans, stealing data and equipment from his own company."

Bruce kisses the inside of Clark’s thigh. “Then the question is, what’s Lex using all that for?”

“Nothing good. I’m sure of that. But I’ll find out. And I’ll put him away for it. _Again_.”

“I know you will.” Bruce shuffles forward a little, making Clark spread his legs wider, and leans in. Bruce puffs a warm breath over the head of his cock, then silently kisses down the length. Reaching his balls, Bruce sucks at each, and then gently rolls them in one hand, while diligently working Clark’s rapidly hardening shaft with the other. Grinning wolfishly when Clark inhales sharply, Bruce traces back up along the veins of Clark’s cock to the tip, which he slowly licks and sucks.

“ _Fuck!_ ” 

Through heavy-lidded eyes, Clark watches his cock slide, inch by inch, into that sinful mouth. Bruce’s head bobs up and down in a steady rhythm, as he sucks with practiced ease, until finally pulling off with an obscene sounding pop. 

"You like that?" Bruce husks.

"Rao, yes." 

Leaning forward, Bruce licks the precome from the head of his cock, and then swallows his shaft in one smooth motion. Bruce’s nose brushes up against Clark's pelvis as he takes his full length into his mouth, all the way down to the hilt. Bruce sucks him with gusto, mouth a slick inferno around his cock. 

“Like that,” Clark rasps, tangling his fingers in Bruce’s soft black hair. 

The slurping sounds immediately sends more blood rushing to Cock’s cock, making him impossibly, painfully harder. As his highs tense, the heat at his center coils tightly. His eyes lock with Bruce's, the sight of him working him so insistently sends electricity shooting straight down Clack’s spine to his cock. Mouth stretched wide, Bruce hums, and that little bit of vibration is all it takes to send Clark careening over the edge. 

"Bruce," he cries out and grips Bruce’s hair, holding his head still. Cock pulsing hard, he comes in hot spurts down Bruce's throat, and pushing forward, rides out his orgasm. 

“Fuck. Kal,” Bruce growls, and fist already wrapped tight around his cock, he leans back on his heels, spreading his legs open as wide as possible. 

If he wasn’t depowered, the sound of Bruce moaning and gasping obscenities, while jerking himself off, would have Clark fully hard again. As it is, his cock still gives a valiant twitch of interest when Bruce cries out his ecstasy, scrunches his closed, and comes. Bruce keens, trembling as his cock pulses and long pearly ribbons cover his first, dripping down between scarred thighs.

Rising to his feet with a self-satisfied smile, Bruce holds out his hand. Clark takes it without hesitation, and he always will. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you going "wait a minute.." at the Lex & Clark in the alley scene, no, you’re not going crazy 😁 When Superbat Week came around, I only had dialogue at that point for this fic, so I stole it to see what happened if I went really dark with how it all played out via [Stop the Press](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636147).
> 
> This was my first Big Bang! I really hope you enjoyed it, and if you haven't yet, be sure to check out the amazing [art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440446) by BlueNeon.
> 
> Also, I have part 2 outlined and am getting ready to start writing. So, fear not, Superman will fly again!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Everyman - Illustration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440446) by Anonymous 
  * [Stop the Press](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636147) by [serephent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serephent/pseuds/serephent)




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